


Imagine Me and You

by ladymac111



Series: Series 3 reaction drabbles [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:59:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymac111/pseuds/ladymac111
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thrill of the chase.  Blood pumping through veins.  Adrenalin, serotonin, dopamine, oxytocin.  Relief and lust and disinhibition.</p><p>Spoilers for The Empty Hearse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagine Me and You

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Happy Together" by The Turtles (1967)

After the bomb squad arrive, Sherlock and John are whisked away to New Scotland Yard, where they give their statements with breathless excitement. Afterwards it seems only natural that they go together back to Baker Street, and it's only natural that John will follow Sherlock up the seventeen steps and take off his coat. It's only then that they seem to realize that this is no longer, in fact, the normal thing to do.

For a long moment they look at each other. John licks his lips and something inside Sherlock's chest snaps and he steps forward, crossing the distance between them in two strides. Hardly daring to breathe, he leans forward and touches his lips to John's.

Sherlock doesn't let himself hold the kiss longer than a single heartbeat, and he draws back hesitantly, carefully watching his friend. Has he done something awful? Has he let the emotions he has worked so hard to repress get the better of him, make him do something horrendous? Will John hate him for this? He doesn't think he could bear it if he did. Why couldn't he have stopped himself? Stupid, stupid ...

After a pause that lasts an age, Sherlock sees the question in John's eyes vanish, and suddenly smooth strong hands are cupping his jaw and a soft mouth crushes against his.

John's kiss is scorchingly hot, and Sherlock feels the skin on his neck prickle as he flushes. Then John's tongue is in his mouth, and his breath is sweet and warm and everything he has craved for the past two years. Two years in which the only thing on his mind was John John _John_ , this lovely perfect man who always believed in him, who waited so patiently for him to return.

Oh, wait, that last one isn't right.

“Mary--” Sherlock gasps.

John shakes his head, brushing the tip of his nose against Sherlock's. “Shut up.” He pushes Sherlock roughly up against the door with his hips, and Sherlock can feel John's erection rubbing against his own.

Sherlock moans into the kiss, blessedly forgetting everything in the world except the touch of _this man_. “I love you.” The words are barely more than a whimper.

“I know.” John's response is equally muffled but no less heartfelt and Sherlock doesn't bother to contain the drops of moisture that slide down his cheeks.

Somehow they are through the kitchen and down the hall and in Sherlock's bedroom, and their clothes are off before the logical part of his brain has caught up with the hormone-fuelled desperation of what he has just realized is actually going to happen. John's cock is huge and beautiful and Sherlock gives it a firm stroke, prompting a moan. “Stop it, or I won't last.”

Sherlock grins. “Neither will I.” He wants to drop to his knees in front of John and do something with his mouth but then he's flat on his back across the bed and John is pressing into him from knees to chest, kissing again and settling between Sherlock's spread thighs. Their cocks are aligned and he rolls his hips, dragging skin against slick skin. Sherlock whines, raises his knees, pushes up against him. The touch is so good but not enough and he's absolutely aching for John to touch him more. The little bit of him that's still somewhat detached thinks it might be nice if they simply melded together and became one organism with two sets of everything.

Meanwhile his body has been working on its own, rutting helplessly against John while the two of them groan and kiss and bite until Sherlock feels like he is about to explode and throws his head back in ecstasy.

As his orgasm tears through his body, it's tempered by a sense of confusion, that he feels as though he's lying on his stomach when he knows he's on his back with J–

 

Sherlock woke fully to hot, wet stickiness in his pants. The flat was completely silent but for his own ragged breathing. John wasn't here. John hadn't been here, not since earlier in the day, when they had cracked the case and run off. John had gone home to Mary, not to Sherlock.

He rolled onto his back and covered his face with shaking hands as he bit back a sob of frustration and longing. The tears on his face were real; those he had shed of love for John were soon joined by those shed of pity for himself, for the lonely, pathetic man he had become. Back in the city he loved, and with the man he loved, but still somehow without both and aching at the loss so badly he almost wished he had died out there.

He let himself wallow in grief for two and a half minutes before he wiped the moisture off his face, kicked the tangled sheets off his body, and got up to change into clean underwear.


End file.
